


setting fire to our insides

by sometimesiwrite



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Don't Even Know, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:37:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1784317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimesiwrite/pseuds/sometimesiwrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To keep his father's memory alive, Stiles becomes the new town Sheriff. Desperate to find justice for his father's murder, Stiles hunts down every lead and is prepared to take down anyone that gets in his way. But he's definitely not prepared for Derek Hale, a man who insists he is innocent, even when the evidence is lined up against him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	setting fire to our insides

**Author's Note:**

> I... I don't even know. I'm sorry. I don't even know where it came from.

Stiles watches them bury his father.

He watches them.

Bury his father.

He hasn’t said anything in 24 hours. This is possibly the longest he’s gone without speaking.

But there isn’t much to say after your best friend and step-brother-to-be rushes into your room at 2 am and breaks down crying, “They got him, Stiles. Those- Those bastards, they got him.”

Stiles is an orphan. Melissa wears black before she gets the chance to wear white. And Scott has single-handedly planned a funeral during a full moon, while trying not to throw up or worse, transform into a big furry creature.

Words don’t make sense right now.

Melissa’s eyes are red when she approaches him. She looks pale. Her hair is limp. Black is not her color. Stiles wants to scream. And then she puts her hand on his shoulder and he can feel the cold metal of the ring he helped his father choose. And he cries like he’s six years old and his mother just died and Melissa holds him the same exact way she did 20 years ago. When they pull apart, he feels her tears on his shirt again.

“You are still our family, Stiles,” she says, “You will always be our family.”

Scott comes up behind him and places a hand on his shoulder, reaffirming the statement.

***

“What have you done?” Melissa asks, walking into the Sheriff’s office a week later.

Stiles is not listening. He is cradling the golden nameplate that once belonged to his father.

He swallows and his throat is burning as he mumbles, “I couldn’t let them throw it out, Melissa, I just couldn’t.”

His father’s life had been immortalized by this nameplate.

“Then you could have asked to keep it or… something! Not this!”

“I couldn’t do it,” Stiles repeats.

She shuts her eyes, “You have a degree. Both of you do. You and Scott wanted to leave this town. Together.  And now…My son just told me that he’s taking over Deaton’s pet store instead. And you’re… this!” she gestures wildly, “Stiles, you two have been looking for apartments in New York since last year. You can’t just give up everything you wanted!”

“This is what I want, Melissa,” he says quietly.

This is not what he wants. He wants his father back. He wants to call Melissa “Mom.” He wants to see the world with Scott.

But he will not leave this town.

She sees the lie, and he knows she doesn’t believe it. But he also knows that she is sick of losing people, and in a way, she is glad that her sons aren’t leaving her.

So, silently, she takes the nameplate from him and puts on the table, so the world can see.

Later, when she is gone, he turns it back around and stares at it.

Sheriff Stilinski.

That’s who Stiles is now.

***

The driver’s license says his name is Derek Hale and that he’s one of the Weres.

The man is supposedly 28, which Stiles isn’t a hundred percent sure he believes, but it’s 9 pm and Stiles is tired and starving and he just wants to go to Melissa’s, who texted him earlier inviting him over for dinner, so he isn’t a hundred percent sure he cares.

“Sheriff?” Deputy Parrish sticks his head in through the door, “He wants to see you.”

“Well, I don’t want to see him right now,” Stiles growls, “I might accidentally maim him.”

Parrish rolls his eyes. He and Stiles have formed an easy friendship over the past few months, and Parrish is always the first to put him in his place.

“This man might have something to do with your father’s death,” Parrish reminds him.

“What, really? I had no idea. And here, I thought I was upset because my deputy brought me caramel coffee instead of the black I had requested.”

“You do not get to whine about that. Who would willingly drink black over caramel anyway?”

“Maybe I would.”

Parrish narrows his eyes at his Sheriff and ignores him, “You need to see the Hale guy. Now.”

“I can’t,” Stiles rubs his face, “I don’t know if-”

“You can.”

Stiles remains silent.

“Your father would want you to.”

That gets Stiles moving. Parrish leads him to holding cell.

“I need to talk to the Sheriff,” Hale is talking to Officer Greenberg. He looks like he belongs in a jail cell. Stiles knows he’s supposed to be impartial, with innocent until proven guilty and all that shit, but the leather jacket and the unshaved face is not helping Hale’s case.

His voice is even. He is calm, not flustered at all. And Stiles wants to kill him for just that.

“I’m here,” Stiles says, with a quiet ferocity and motions for Greenberg to get out. Greenberg pauses, and Stiles glares at him, a promise of death in his eyes. Greenberg scampers away.

“Stilinski,” Hale looks confused, “Where’s Stilinski?”

“I am Stilinski. Sheriff Stilinski.”

“No, he’s…” Hale looked horrified, “He’s…”

“My father.”

“Call him in,” Hale looks desperate, like he already knows, but he needs to try anyway, “Call him in. He knows I’m innocent.”

“He’s dead,” Stiles is quiet.

Hale’s eyes widen, “How?”

“Those bastards from Nevada.”

“The Argents?” Hale asks, like he already doesn’t fucking know.

“Yes. So you can probably understand why you are not in my good books right now, buddy.”

Hale looks even more confused, “No, actually I really can’t.”

“We have logs. Of you and your interaction with the company.”

“The Sheriff knows… he knew all about that. He had it in his journal.”

Stiles eyes’ widen and he grabs Hale by the collar, “What do you know about that?”

“I gave him that,” Hale glares back, “For his birthday.”

Stiles drops the collar, “His birthday?”

“Four years ago. June.”

Stiles tries to come up with a reason for why Hale would give his father a birthday present. He comes up blank. Stiles sighs and rubs his face. He gets up and walks to the door.

“Where are you going?” Hale asks. He’s not calm anymore.

“I,” Stiles turns around and glares at the convict shackled to the table, “Am going to call the woman my father was about to marry and tell her that I cannot come to dinner. Again. And then I am going to come back in here and try to figure out who the hell you are and what you have to do with my father.”

And that’s precisely what he does. Kind of.

He puts it off by sending everyone home, telling them it’s getting late.

“If you murder Hale, I’ll help you hide the body,” Parrish mutters as he leaves, “Just be smart about it. And if you’re not going to be smart, call me.”

“Thanks,” Stiles mutters and then dials a number from memory.

“I’m sorry, Melissa,” He sighs into the phone, “We got a lead on this case and I just have to stay a bit longer.”

He purposefully does not mention exactly which case this is, “I’m not going to be able to make it to dinner tonight. I’m so sorry.”

Melissa is quiet and Stiles shuffles awkwardly as he listens to her breathe.

“I’ll send Scott over with some mac and cheese later,” is all she says.

“Thank you, Melissa.”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t… I just mean… Be careful, Stiles.”

“I will.”

Stiles ends the call and doesn’t go back into the interrogation room.

Instead, he goes back into his father’s office and buries his face into his hands.

He wants to put Hale behind bars. Preferably forever.

He’s spent the last 11 months of his life trying to track down the organization that had killed his father, and here was one of the bad guys.

They have proof. Call logs. Drug sales. An anonymous tip. Fingerprints. Hair samples. Camera footage. They have freaking camera footage. The evidence is overwhelming.

His father deserves justice, dammit. Hale deserves a bullet through his heart.

And Stiles… Stiles wants it to be over. There is a void inside him that can only be filled by revenge. He wants to be able to go to Melissa’s dinners without feeling as though he has failed her. He wants the ring on her finger to be a fond memory of his father, not a painful jab that makes him feel incompetent.

So why is Stiles getting queasy right now? Why is the pinky on his right finger tingling?

Trust your instincts, his father had always told him. Well, his instincts are freaking wrong. Hale is guilty.

Why is Stiles even wrestling with this decision?

He should just put Hale back in a lock up and go home and sleep it off and let someone else deal with filing a report because Hale is guilty.

And yet, there’s a small voice in the back of his head. No one is supposed to know about that journal. Stiles isn’t even supposed to know about. His father always tried to hide it and deflect Stiles’ questions about it.

And how the hell did Hale know his father’s birthday?

If there is even the tiniest possibility that Hale is not guilty, Stiles will never be able to sleep at night.

“There is a difference between justice and punishing the innocent,” His father had once told him.

Stiles could not ignore that difference. He strokes his father’s nameplate and squares his shoulders.

He plops wearily into a chair in the interrogation room, “Talk.”

“I met your father for the first time when I was 16. My house was set on fire. I lost most of my family,” Hale doesn’t elaborate and nor does he look up. His tone is clipped and clinical, “Your father was inspecting a possibility of arson. He said we weren’t safe here.”

“We?” Stiles asks, staring at Hale, looking for a lie.

“Me and my older sister, Laura.”

“Where is she now?”

“Dead. Your father helped us escape to New York for a while, but we received a call telling us there’d been a break in the case.”

“And?”

“It was a trap. I’m still not sure who the call was from, but, ah, Laura got killed. I didn’t have any place to go. I didn’t want to touch the life insurance money, so I stayed with your father for a while.”

“When was this?”

“You were at college. A junior, I think? Finishing up a business degree? I don’t remember. Your father was very proud.”

“I know,” Stiles doesn’t let himself dwell on that.

“I moved out before the year was over and went to Brazil for a while.”

He certainly has a nice tan. Stiles wishes he could tan like that, but no, his skin sizzles and turns red in the sun.

“What did you do in Brazil?”

“Research. There was evidence linking Laura’s death to an underground network in South America that deals with the trade of illegal arms.”

“Incendio,” Stiles nods, “They came up in some of our research, too.”

“I contacted your father about it. He helped me infiltrate the system. I went undercover for about 2 years. And I learned a shit load about arson.”

“Like?”

“Like Chris Argent has had a lot of practice with it. And that he’s got connections to the Incendio. There’s been a string of abnormal house fires across the countries in the past decade. All of these house fires have had Incendio’s signature all over them.”

“The smashed windows, a circle of wolfsbane and unidentified chemical that accelerates the fires,” Stiles knows this.

“And somehow they’ve all benefitted Argent Industries.”

“Do you have a list? Or evidence? Or anything?” Stiles believes Derek but he needs a bit more than this.

Derek nods, “It’s all in your father’s journal.”

Stiles sighs, frustrated, “Unfortunately, no one has seen that thing in almost a year. Since Dad’s death.”

“I think I might know where it is.”

“Where?”

“Do you think Melissa is sleeping yet?”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

***

“Just for the record, I am not comfortable with this. At all.”

“You’ve mentioned that, Sheriff. Many times.”

“If you try anything-”

“Listen, I’ve spent the last 2 years in Brazil. Undercover. Risking my ass to avenge my dead family. I’m not going to disrespect the man who helped me with that by pulling some crazy stunt in his house.”

Stiles nod, satisfied, but barely.

He rings the doorbell and Melissa opens the door. Her face lights up when she sees him, “Stiles!”

She throws her arms around him and he buries his face in the crook of her neck, “Melissa.”

“I thought you weren’t coming!” she looks so pleased that Stiles suddenly regrets all the dinners he’s missed.

“Change of plans. Melissa, this is-”

“Derek,” she greets warmly, hugging him as well, “How are you?”

“I’ve been better,” Derek smiles, “Your hair looks different. Did you cut it?”

Right after the funeral, Stiles thinks.

“Yes,” Melissa smiles, “I needed a change. Come inside.”

“How do you know each other?” Stiles murmurs to Hale.

“I’ve spent a lot of time in hospitals. And on your Dad’s couch,” Derek shrugs.

“Scott! Stiles is here! And look who he’s brought!” Melissa reminds Stiles of a kid at Christmas.

“Derek!” Scott greets, “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, it has. I heard about the engagement. Congrats, buddy,” Derek says as they hug. Derek pulls away after a while and looks at Scott, “You look good.”

“Yeah, I’ve been sleeping better, even on full moons.”

“You can control it on full moons?” Derek is impressed, “That’s usually not the sort of thing that the Turned can control.”

“Allison helped me,” Scott shrugs happily.

How could Stiles never have met someone who was so entwined with the people in his life?

“Scott, do you know how long Allison is going to be?” Melissa asks.

“Allison’s coming?” Stiles perks up. He likes Allison. She keeps Scott from wallowing, which gives her everyone’s seal of approval.

“Yeah, but she’s going to be late,” Scott says, handing him a glass of water, “She got held up at work.”

Stiles takes a sip of water as Melissa starts to gush, “This is so great! Stiles, I’m so glad you and your man could make it! You and Scott haven’t both dated at the same time before!”

Stiles spits the water right back out on Scott and starts laughing. Scott stares at his wet t-shirt, totally confused. Melissa looks horrified, “Stiles!”

“I’m not- I mean, we’re not…  Not that it’s not… but it’s just not… Help me out, Derek.”

“Um, we’re not dating,” Derek puts it succinctly.

Melissa looks disappointed, “Oh.”

“Wow, glad we got that cleared up. Really wish we could have done that without spitting on me, but this is good, too,” Scott is glaring, “I’m going to go change.”

“Sorry, man,” Stiles calls over his shoulder, “Hey, Melissa, I’m going to go upstairs and find my old copy of To Kill A Mockingbird because Derek still hasn’t read that and it’s a damned shame.”

“Ok, sweetheart. I’ll call you when Allison gets here.”

“Sounds good!” Stiles shouts as he and Derek clamor up the stairs.

“To Kill a Mockingbird? Really? Now she’s going to think I’m illiterate,” Derek mutters.

“Bigger bridges to burn, Hale.”

“That’s not how the saying goes.”

Instead of going to Stiles’ room, they pause in front of his dad’s room. Stiles put his hand on the door knob but doesn’t move.

“You know, it’s ok,” Derek tries, “I can do it myself.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. His Dad’s room is a mess. He knows that means no one has been here in a while.

“It should be here,” Derek walks over to the desk and swings out the bottom drawer.

“There’s nothing there,” Stiles is more disappointed than he wishes he was.

“Look again,” Derek feels the back for something and pulls it up.

“A false bottom?” Stiles breathes out, “This is like one of those really weird old movies my dad used to watch.”

Derek stops what he’s doing and frowns up at Stiles, “Those movies aren’t weird. I gave him half his collection.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Stiles stares at him, “They’re terrible.”

“We’re going to have to re-educate you later,” Derek says, and although Stiles would love to spend time with this convict, he’s not sure he wants to spend it re-watching his father’s old collections.

Derek pulls out the journal and drops it on the bed. They both stare at it. Stiles reaches for it and strokes the spine with his thumb.

“Stiles, we need to get out of here before Melissa or Scott gets here,” Derek’s voice is urgent so Stiles turns to move. A single index card flutters out of the book.

On it is a drawing.

“Derek,” Stiles’ voice cracks, “What’s this?”

Derek comes over, “That’s the Argent family crest. They engraved it on to Laura’s back after they shot her. In her own blood.”

Derek is shaking with silent fury and Stiles wants to say something, but there are a thousand thoughts in his head right now and he cannot breathe, “I’ve seen that necklace before.”

Derek blinks, “Where?”

Downstairs, the doorbell rings and suddenly Stiles feel light headed, “On her.”

 

 


End file.
